I was quite intrigued to see this film and Crispin himself doing his spoken word performance in my town, as I've very much enjoyed his offbeat acting and artistic choices. Unfortunately, my sense of anticipation slowly morphed into a disappointing combination of boredom and disgust as the night wore on.
Adapted from the screenplay of and starring Steven C. Stewart, a man stricken with cerebral palsy, the storyline meanders at a snail's pace as you try and figure out where the hell it's going. Stewart's constant, garbled diction and the naive dialogue are at first quite interesting, though before long it becomes glaringly clear that true substance is bowing to leery shock value here. Actress after beautiful actress gets naked, has sex with in some cases, and then gets attacked and murdered by this frustrated fellow.
After the showing, we learn that it was Steven's and then Crispin's dream to have Steven's vision be made reality before his imminent passing, a concept both noble and intriguing. Subjected to 74 minutes of pure, self-indulgent misogyny though, I feel angry that precious time of my life was used up for this thankless drudge, and sad for Steven that this simple-minded "fantasy" of ugliness and hate was his swan song.
Should disabled people have voices in the media? Absolutely. Should Crispin be allowed to make a film like this? Sure. But how disappointing that someone with such a propensity for the counterculture would devote his creative talents to a piece filled with stinky elements so commonly floating in the mainest of streams-gratuitous female nudity, sexualizing of underage young girls, women compromising themselves, women being killed and in general being sex objects/victims. So the fact that this tired, toxic norm is filtered through the eyes of a man with cerebral palsy instead of your average douchey Hollywood type makes it deep?
We get it-disabled people have dark thoughts. This could have been accomplished in a five-minute short.
There is also no doubt in my mind that the shameless ego-stroking that ensued in Crispin's direction after this screening would have taken quite a different form if this mess was presented by Joe Unknown.
Adapted from the screenplay of and starring Steven C. Stewart, a man stricken with cerebral palsy, the storyline meanders at a snail's pace as you try and figure out where the hell it's going. Stewart's constant, garbled diction and the naive dialogue are at first quite interesting, though before long it becomes glaringly clear that true substance is bowing to leery shock value here. Actress after beautiful actress gets naked, has sex with in some cases, and then gets attacked and murdered by this frustrated fellow.
After the showing, we learn that it was Steven's and then Crispin's dream to have Steven's vision be made reality before his imminent passing, a concept both noble and intriguing. Subjected to 74 minutes of pure, self-indulgent misogyny though, I feel angry that precious time of my life was used up for this thankless drudge, and sad for Steven that this simple-minded "fantasy" of ugliness and hate was his swan song.
Should disabled people have voices in the media? Absolutely. Should Crispin be allowed to make a film like this? Sure. But how disappointing that someone with such a propensity for the counterculture would devote his creative talents to a piece filled with stinky elements so commonly floating in the mainest of streams-gratuitous female nudity, sexualizing of underage young girls, women compromising themselves, women being killed and in general being sex objects/victims. So the fact that this tired, toxic norm is filtered through the eyes of a man with cerebral palsy instead of your average douchey Hollywood type makes it deep?
We get it-disabled people have dark thoughts. This could have been accomplished in a five-minute short.
There is also no doubt in my mind that the shameless ego-stroking that ensued in Crispin's direction after this screening would have taken quite a different form if this mess was presented by Joe Unknown.